Chapter 4
Today's appointment on her social calendar was something she had been awaiting with ill-concealed eagerness. Mrs. Connie Satterleee, wife of the President of International Electronics Corporation, would he having a friendly visit and tea with Mrs. Grace Richards. Grace's husband Walter B. Richards, was the young, energetic but stodgy Space Equipment Division Manager of I. E. C.
For a meeting that promised little more than the usual company gossip and playing of corporation politics, Connie seemed anxious indeed. She kept looking expectantly out of her huge sitting room window down the driveway to the Satterlee mansion.
Finally, the maroon Continental convertible she had been awaiting impatiently, rolled up the doorway. Mrs. Grace Richards had arrived.
Grace was only twenty-nine. She was a sleek, well-built girl with close-cropped dark hair, she dressed in the latest fashion and was something of a pace-setter in women's styles, though her attempt to appear chic, and sophisticated was marred somewhat by her tendency to gain weight. Grace looked a trifle pudgy. Her tits and ass were heftier than she was really pleased about. She was a soft, cuddly-looking girl, probably the prettiest wife any Division head had ever had. Her husband, like most of the current crop of important men in I. E. C. management, was quite young, just thirty-seven.
However, he had eleven solid years of field service behind him and when Robert M. Satterlee had headed up I. E. C. two years ago, Walt Richards had been picked to head the important Space Equipment Division of I. E. C. He knew how to play the right kind of big company politics-and his attractive wife was an asset.
The secretary showed Grace into the presence of Connie Satterlee. Connie smiled graciously. The tea-cups were all ready. The secretary smiled too, and departed.
After that, the script rapidly diverged from the standard afternoon-political-tea scene.
Connie locked the door.
Connie drew the blinds.
Connie turned to the younger woman, and wrapped her arms around her, drawing the voluptuous, cuddly Grace close.
"Darling," Connie murmured. "I've missed you so much!"
"I know what you mean. I've been counting the days till I could see you again."
"I could have kicked Bob when he sent you and Walt off on that stupid investigating trip. Three whole weeks without your sweet pussy, darling."
"Three weeks of hell. But I'm back."
"At last," Connie smiled. "Shall we have some tea, Madame Division Manager?"
"Let's have the tea later, shall we, Mrs. President?"
They chuckled, and they laughed, and then they embraced and kissed.
And then Connie opened an inner door, and they left the drawing room and went into the bedroom that adjoined it.
And then they took off their clothes.
And then they hopped onto the bed.
These little frigging get-togethers had been taking place for a year and a half now, ever since Connie had discovered that the wife of the Space Equipment Division manager had the same sort of inclinations that she herself had. Neither Connie nor Grace was a full-time Lesbian or ever had been. Men's cocks were too interesting and too useful. If you married the right man, you could get power, prestige, comfort. And, of course, if you married a man, you were supposed to fuck with him fairly often.
So they had humps with their husbands. And sometimes with other men too, when the inclination to try out a new cock struck.
But the best fun of all was frigging each other.
Connie had discovered the joys of the woman-to-woman frigging when she was only sixteen. Grace had not tumbled to the illicit pleasures of lesbianism until the age of twenty-three, at which time she found herself married to a hard-working young business man. By this time, both women had had plenty of practice in the art of humping with other girls.
They stripped fast. They swept into each other's arms. Connie sighed as she felt the hard points of Grace's nipples jabbing her own tits.
Grace had marvelous breasts, Connie thought. They were big, bigger than grapefruits and a lot more interesting to touch. Grace thought her breasts were much to big, but Connie thought they were just right. Connie who played the masculine role, liked a girly girl, a highly feminine girl, a soft and jiggly girl.
A voluptuous girl like Grace.
She filled her hands with Grace's abundant breasts. She drank at the fountain of Grace's lips. She caressed Grace's soft, overflowing body, drawing her fingertips sensously down the younger girl's satiny skin.
Grace repaid the compliments. She seized Connie's tits in her own hands, gripped them, toyed with them, made their ruby nipples stand up tall. She stroked Connie's firm, well-packed asscheeks. She put her lips to Connie's smooth skin, and drew the kiss downward towards her bush and cuntlips.
Grace was very agile, very skillful.
Connie gasped in pleasure as Grace supplied a demonstration of her skill of cunt-lapping.
Then it was Connie's turn to do the loving up. She dug her fingers against cool smooth flesh, and performed for Grace the delightful cunt-kissing that Grace had just performed for her. Turn about, after all, was only fair play.
Since they were well-versed in the art of giving each other cunt-pleasure, Grace and Connie soon moved on to the next stage in their amours, which involved a simultaneous bestowal of affection, or good old "Sixty-nine."
And then, when they were both panting and a little dizzy with passion, it was time for the grand finale.
They worked, wildly mouthing each other's clitoris and cuntlips.
They gasped.
Body thrusting, cunningly against body. Pleasure was duly obtained. Higher and yet higher, bodies rosy with excitement and glistening with perspiration, and then came the laughing, gasping moment of completion, the electrifying moment of mutual female orgasm.
The consummation of their strange desire swept over them like fire blazing through timber-dry prairie land.
Then the two women were lying in a naked, huddled, happy heap.
"Hell," Connie said. "I needed the taste of your darling pussy!"
"Three weeks! So did I."
"The stockholders ought to see us," Connie said. "What a front-page story a picture of our little frigging session would make."
"No," Grace said. "It wouldn't. No newspaper would dare to print it. Too hot to handle."
"You're probably right."
"I know I am," Grace said. She leaned forward and kissed the still swollen tip of Connie's left breast.
Connie said, 'Tell me about your trip. Did you meet anyone interesting?"
"Not really. Just a bunch of cigar-chewing business men and their middle-aged wives."
"How dull."
"It was unutterably dull," Grace said. "There was o e interesting girl, though."
"Oh?"
"Jean Pierce," Grace said. "Her husband's down in Harrison City. Do you know her?"
"I've met her a few times," Connie said. "I know her husband a lot better. Jack is up here pretty often on business."
"Jean's a gorgeous girl," Grace said.
Connie nodded. "She certainly is."
"But moody. I spent only half an hour with her, and yet I thought I could see right through her. She's restless and bored. Her husband neglects her sex needs for business the way Walt neglects me and Bob neglects you. Jean's searching for something. I got the feeling her life's empty to her."
"Maybe she's searching for a lover," Connie suggested.
"Oh, I imagine she's got some prick-pusher," Grace said. "But even that doesn't satisfy her. She needs something different in her life. You know, Connie? I bet that girl can be made."
"Jean? Made by whom?"
"You," Grace said. "Or me."
Grace had planted an idea in Connie's head. The more Connie studied the idea, the more she liked it. She poked at it from every angle, and it stood up straight and tall.
Jean Pierce. Why not?
Connie had met Jean at various business functions; they knew each other well enough to recognize one another without a name tag, but they were hardly close friends. That didn't matter; Connie had her ways of striking up a fast acquaintanceship.
Connie was always interested in some new form of titillation. And this was one notion that had never really occurred to her before, but which she saw had very agreeable possibilities. She was already fucking for Jack Pierce. Why not frig Jean now?
Screw with the husband, screw with the wife?
Why not?
From liking the idea to putting it into effect was, for Connie, a short and simple step. Two days after her little tet-a-tete with Grace Richards, Connie was on the telephone, calling long distance to Jean Pierce.
"Darling," she said, "I'm going to be down your way tomorrow, and I thought perhaps I might drop in to visit you in the early afternoon. Would that be all right?"
"Of course," Jean said immediately. Damned right it would be all right, if the boss' wife wanted to stop by for a spot of conversation! "But you know, my husband won't be at home tomorrow. He's got a meeting up in-"
"Yes, I know," Connie said. "Hell be seeing Bob, as a matter-of-fact. But that's all right. We can find plenty to talk about, just the two of us, I'm sure."
"What time can I expect you?"
"Say, half past one?" Connie said. "Right after lunch, that is."
The following morning, Connie ordered her limousine to be ready at ten o'clock. She didn't bother telling her husband where she was going. He was busy with his business preoccupations-why should he care? She simply said she was going to be away all day, and he nodded, and that was that.
It took a little over an hour to make the trip, via the turnpike. Connie spent another hour browsing around the downtown stores, then had a light lunch in midtown, and headed for the suburban home of Jack and Jean Pierce. She was there about twenty minutes to two. The day was hot and sunny, dry and crisp, a perfect summer day.
Jean was all aflutter. Clearly she regarded it as a Very Big Deal Indeed to be visited by so august a personage as the wife of the boss. The house, which was a handsome, expensive-looking one, was spic and span, and Jean looked delectable and eminently sensual in her best informal summer frock, which molded the supple lines of her breasts and ass in a fashion that Connie highly appreciated.
Jean had made tea, and caviar sandwiches, and various other hors d'oeuvres. They sat in the garden, behind the house, and nibbled daintily for a while, while Connie told her what a lovely house this was, and what a lovely frock she was wearing, and how delightfully lovely her hair looked worn the way she was wearing it.
Then a little while later, Connie decided to get down to business.
"I see a lot of your husband around I. E. C. headquarters," Connie said, apropos of nothing very much.
"Yes, Jack is always up there," Connie went on. "Bob seems to confer with him all the time."
"Yes, so I gather," Jean said.
There was an edge to her tone that revealed many things. Connie said easily, "I guess you must feel lonely at times, having to stay here while Jack commutes back and forth."
"It isn't so bad," Jean said. "I realize his work is important to I. E. C."
"Even so, a young, attractive gal like you doesn't enjoy being left to wither on the vine. You must feel like a widow half the time."
"Wei-"
"You don't need to pretend, darling. I understand your position perfectly, because I'm in it myself. These men, always busy, always dealing with the cares of the business world and-we're left to amuse ourselves half the time."
Jean sighed. "You're so right, Connie."
"And the more capable a man is, the more ambitious he is, the less his wife gets to see of him. There are times when Bob and I are like two strangers. He's too busy even to say hello to me," Connie said.
"Isn't it the truth!"
Connie studied Jack Pierce's wife with interest. She wondered what it would be like to get her hands on those two round delicious-looking titties bulging under the frock.
She wondered if Jean Pierce's legs were really as attractive as they seemed to be when she crossed them. She wondered if Jean Pierce were passionate when she was frigging....
She wondered a whole lot of things.
She pictured herself in bed, and Jean Pierce in the same bed, and both of them naked. And suddenly such a rush of desire surged through Connie's cunt that she hastily gulped down tea and bit into a sandwich and clamped her knees tightly together, to cover her confusion.
Then she said, "Jack is a very ambitious man, isn't he?"
"He's got his dreams," Jean said. "And he's got the ability to get to higher places."
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure of that."
"He's got some goals in mind," Jean said. "Of course, I know he'd love to be a Senior Vice President. He's terribly loyal to Bob, you know. He thinks the world of him. Just the other day Jack said to me that Bob was one of the three best business men in the nation."
Connie nodded. It was only to be expected that Jack's wife would put in a little buttering up. Connie didn't mind the obviousness of it. If she were in Jean's position, she knew she'd be doing the same thing.
Connie said, "I had a long talk with Jack one night when he was up at the Broughton office. He told me all about his hopes for the future. He told me how badly he wants to become a Vice-President for instance."
"Yes. That's his big dream. He'd give almost anything to be an I. E. C. Vice-President."
Connie smiled. She gave Jean a long, slow, searching look, beginning with Jean's jet-black hair and moving right down to her cunt at an unhurried pace over the lush hills and valleys of her well-stacked body.
Connie Satterlee's bold stare momentarily disconcerted Jean, and she looked at her clothing and wondering if something were wrong. She found Connie smiling at her enigmatically as she asked, "Are you sincere when you say you'd do anything to help Jack get the Senior Vice-Presidency at I. E. C?"
"Of course I would!" Jean answered. "But I don't quite see what you're driving at, Mrs. Satterlee."
Connie said, "My husband values my business intuition highly. If I boosted Jack Pierce as Senior Vice-Presidential timber, I assure you, Jack Pierce would soon get his heart's desire."
"I never underestimate the power of a woman," Jean said brightly, "but what can I do?"
Connie's eyes had a strange look of triumph as she brusied her hand against Jean's tit and said. "I'm going to go into "pussy-power" in great detail, Jean dear."